A Christmas Carol
by Panamint
Summary: Captain Kirk learns the true meaning of Christmas. Maybe.
1. Chapter 1

_**A Christmas Carol with a Trekkish Twist**_

**_Part One_**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters in this story, nor do I own A Christmas Carol. I just like playing with them… ;-)**

* * *

It started out as an ordinary day onboard the _U.S.S. Enterprise._ And by ordinary, we mean 'boring'. True, it WAS the day before Christmas, and the bridge crew had previously been engaged in using simulated ornaments to decorate the simulated Christmas tree and sampling some of the simulated holiday treats that the food replicators had been processing. Captain Kirk had even managed to convince his first officer—the ever-logical Mr. Spock—to participate in some of the fun. 

But now all of that was done, and everyone was back on duty. Which basically meant that they were boring their brains out on the bridge. Except for Spock and Kirk, that is. Spock was busy calculating something like the ratio of how many oxygen molecules to carbon dioxide molecules were currently floating around the room. And as for Kirk…

…He was too busy being scared to be bored.

Kirk remembered all too well what had happened this time last year. The crew had been bored, just like they were now. But then McCoy, the ship's Chief Medical Officer, had come up with the idea to have the bridge crew put on their own production of _The Nutcracker Suite. _And, as everyone on the ship knew, THAT had turned out to be about as good an idea as the one Scotty had had about the tribbles. And the worst part was that Scotty had actually recorded that Christmas disaster and had managed to sell several disks to the crew before being caught by Kirk. Scotty had spent the next few weeks sending death threats to Kirk for taking away his precious engineering manuals.

"You asked for it," Kirk had replied to each and every one.

So now, here they were again, bored on the bridge on the day before Christmas. Sulu and Chekov were at their consoles, Uhura and Spock were at their separate stations, and McCoy was standing to the left of Kirk's chair. And Kirk knew it was only a matter of time before McCoy came up with another idea.

Sure enough, no more than five minutes later…

"Hey, now here's a fun thought," Bones began in a slow and deliberate tone. "Remember last year when we put on that Christmas play for the rest of the crew?"

"Unfortunately," grumbled Kirk.

"Sure do!" Uhura replied in a much more enthusiastic voice. "That was the most fun I had had all year—except when I got pushed out of the chair, that is."

"Well, I was just thinking," the good doctor continued, "maybe we could do something like that again this year. The crew really seemed to enjoy it, and I know _I_ had a_ great_ time… what do _you_ think, Jim?"

Kirk glared at McCoy. He knew he was being teased about what had happened in last year's play, and he didn't like it.

"Go ahead, then," Kirk said. "Good luck, break a leg, and all that other stuff. Just don't expect ME to have any part of it!"

Everyone on the bridge (excepting Spock) turned to groan and protest, trying to get their Captain into the holiday spirit. But Kirk would have none of it and merely stomped off to his quarters, leaving Spock in charge of the comm.

About fifteen Earth minutes later, Kirk was pacing around his room, trying to convince himself that he was safe. He was the Captain, after all—when he said things, people listened to them!

No more than ten minutes after he first had this thought, Kirk realized that someone was outside the doors to his quarters, waiting for permission to enter. Kirk granted permission, but was instantly suspicious when a very nervous Ensign Chekov entered the room.

"Good day, Ensign," Kirk greeted, somewhat brusquely. "How's your, um… _play_ coming along?"

"Wery good, sair," Chekov replied. "Ve have decided to do a new wersion of an old Russian favorite."

_Why doesn't this surprise me?_

"Alright, what is it?" asked Kirk.

"A Christmas Carol, sair."

Kirk blinked, but promptly decided that it was no use correcting the navigator. He had already made up his mind that everything of use had been invented in his native Russia, even if it had actually been discovered on a completely different planet ten quadrillion light years away that had never even HEARD of Russia.

"Well, good luck, then," Kirk said dismissively, hoping it would end the conversation.

It didn't.

"Vell, sair, um… ve are having a little problem vith… casting."

"What kind of a… _little problem?_"

Chekov cleared his throat a bit, took a deep breath, and then explained, "Vell, sair, ve have Lt. Uhura as the Ghost of Christmas Past, Mr. Scott as the Ghost of Christmas Present, and Dr. McCoy as the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come."

"Sounds like a good cast so far. What's the problem?"

Taking another breath, Chekov went on:

"And Sulu is playing Bob Cratchit, Nurse Chapel is playing Mrs. Cratchit, and I am playing Tiny Tim Cratchit."

"Still sounds good. So what's the problem?"

Ignoring Kirk once again, Chekov plowed on:

"And Lt. Riley is to be—"

"_Chekov,_" Kirk ground out, "_what is the problem_?"

Sighing a little, the young ensign finally blurted out, "Ve don't have anyvon to play Mr. Scrooge!"

It took Kirk only a few milliseconds to figure out what Chekov was saying.

"Oh, no, you don't! No, no, no, no, NO!" the Captain ranted. "I absolutely REFUSE!"

"But sair—"

"NO! Don't you understand English!" Kirk screamed, sounding desperate. "No! Nyet! Absolutely NEVER! And you can QUOTE me on that, TOO! Is that understood, Ensign!"

Chekov just nodded, looking a little hurt and a lot stunned, and strode out of the room with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Me as Scrooge—ha! The nerve of some people!" Kirk grumbled. Then he let out a yawn and decided it was about time for him to go to bed. If he was lucky, the crew would have forgotten about their planned Christmas play by morning.

Kirk's head had just hit the pillow when a loud boom filled the room, prompting the startled Captain to sit up in his bed. It had sounded like thunder, but since there is no thunder in deep space, Kirk knew there was something amiss.

Suddenly, a brilliant light was shone in Kirk's eyes, and he was forced to cover them to protect himself from being blinded for life. But, trying to act like the brave Captain he was, he eventually opened them just a crack.

He was not prepared for what he saw.

"_Mom!"_ he cried, startled. "Wha—what are you _doing_ here!"

"Jimmy!" Mrs. Kirk exclaimed jovially. She threw herself at Kirk, flinging her arms around his neck and planting wet Mom-kisses all over his face.

"Mom… _Mom…_" Kirk mumbled, confused (and very, very embarrassed).

"Oh, I'm so happy to see you!" she continued.

That was when another crack of thunder was heard. The silver-haired woman swiftly straightened up, smoothed her flowing white dress, put a stern expression on her wrinkled face, and said in a strict tone, "I am here to help you, Jimmy."

"Help me? To do what?"

"To quit acting like a jerk, that's what! The way you're acting, you're starting to give the family a bad name."

"I am?" asked Kirk, shock evident in his tone. "But what about all those planets I saved? Doesn't that count for anything?"

Mrs. Kirk just shook her head sadly.

"How could I have raised such a son?" she sniffled. "Yes, you have saved many planets, but it's your ATTITUDE we are worried about."

"'We'?" Kirk said hesitantly.

"We—me, the Man Upstairs… _we_…"

Kirk swallowed noisily, trying to hide his growing nervousness. Somehow, this all sounded vaguely familiar, and he had the feeling he wasn't going to like how it ended up.

Kirk's mother held out a glowing hand and instructed her son to take it. Hesitantly, Kirk did so. He suddenly felt as if he were using the transporter to beam down to some random planet. How his mother had managed that was beyond all comprehension.

After the transporting sensation ended, Kirk found himself at—well, I think you can guess.

"My old elementary school!" Kirk exclaimed. "I thought they tore it down years ago! Am I glad I was wrong!"

"You weren't wrong; they did tear it down. Right after you graduated. I guess after seeing the way _you_ turned out, they figured it was too much of a risk to keep the school going."

"Hey, are you sure you're my mom? Because you're acting pretty nasty right about now," Kirk put in. He was almost immediately given a slap on the cheek and told never to speak to his mother that way ever again.

"And after all I've done for you!" she added tearfully.

"Yup, you're my mother, alright."

Slowly, the red-faced starship Captain took a look around. They were in the auditorium, and many parents had already filtered into the spacious room. The purplish curtain was wiggling furiously, indicating that there were quite a few children behind it, preparing for whatever they were about to do.

"What's going on here?" Kirk asked after a few minutes of nothing much happening. "And did that kid just throw a lollipop through your arm?"

"And I thought you read that book back in high school for English class!" Mrs. Kirk sighed, sounding even more disappointed than before. "Don't you remember? 'These are but shadows of the things that have been. They have no consciousness of us.' And I am the Ghost of Christmas Past! _Ghost_ as in _non-existent!_"

"Okay. I _know_ I've heard that one somewhere before. Some of it, anyway."

Before they could continue with the conversation, a stern-looking gentleman with silver hair appeared on the stage as if by magic.

"There's Principal Smiler!" Kirk exclaimed. "Boy, was he ever the grouch. All the kids hated him and used to replace his coffee with black paint. Are we to help him, too?"

"_No. _He's been _dead_ for _years. _He's _beyond _help," Mrs. Kirk responded impatiently. "Now watch quietly or I'll send you to bed without your supper."

The Captain tried not to sigh, but obeyed his mother nonetheless.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to our third annual Christmas play," the non-smiling Smiler greeted. "The children have worked very hard for the past month to bring this play to you, and I'm sure you will enjoy their version of A Christmas Carol."

Kirk paled considerably as he remembered two things—one: what the bridge crew was planning for the holiday season, and two: who had been chosen to play the lead in the play that year.

Even as the audience clapped, Kirk whispered, "Uh, Mom? Is this really, _really_ necessary? I mean, couldn't we just visit some _other_ Christmas play?"

"No. Now watch before I tell your father what a naughty boy you're being!"

Kirk knew that he was a little too old for the kinds of punishments his mother was intimidating him with, but after years of instantly snapping to attention at those kinds of threats, he decided it would be in his best interest to listen to her.

Slowly, the curtain parted. A crudely-made little desk sat in the center of the stage with even cruder scenery behind it. And there at the desk sat a little boy of about ten in a gray wig and 19th Century-style clothing. I don't think you really need all three guesses to figure out who it was.

"Oh, you looked so cute as Scrooge!" Kirk's mother cooed.

"I _looked ridiculous,_" Captain Kirk disagreed.

"Oh, shh, shh! Here comes you first line!"

Kirk rolled his eyes, but watched as another kid dressed as Scrooge's nephew strode onto the stage and cried out, "A Merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!"

Then, much to Kirk's embarrassment, the little Kirk replied with a high-pitched, "Bah, humbug!"

"You were so cute back then!" Mrs. Kirk commented happily. Kirk sighed, tried not to look embarrassed, and continued to watch the play without much interest.

"Christmas a humbug, Uncle!" the other kid continued. "You don't mean that, I am sure."

And so it went for the next hour or so, until they finally came to an intermission. Kirk could have collapsed with relief. Watching his ten-year-old self was more humiliating than he ever could have imagined. At least now he'd have a good fifteen minutes to think of a way to escape.

But much to his utter horror, his mother waved her hand over the entire scene. Not only was the intermission over in an instant, but they were now at the part of the play where Scrooge approaches his headstone. Kirk, having had enough of being humiliated, attempted to slink out the door.

"James Tiberius!" snapped his mother.

With another gulp, Kirk hastily slinked back and hung his head shamefully as he apologized. Then he turned back to the unfolding scene before them…

"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point," little Kirk said, "answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that _will_ be, or are they shadows of the things that _may_ be only?"

The kid in the cloak—who was playing the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come—simply pointed at a nearby headstone. It was obviously a fake one, but little Kirk approached it with as much trepidation and fear as if it was real.

"I was so good, wasn't I?" Kirk couldn't help but say proudly.

"Just watch, Jimmy."

Kirk turned back to the stage, where little Kirk was just about to wipe the snow from the headstone. But as the small boy knelt, the fake stone wobbled and fell over backwards with a loud thunk. Several people in the audience snickered, and little Kirk turned slightly red as big Kirk turned VERY red.

The little Kirk on the stage hurriedly tried to set the stone right, but only ended up making things worse. Eventually, he jerked in such a way that his wig fell off. The audience laughed a little more. Little Kirk tried to run off the stage but ended up crashing into the other kid. Both went down, and the other kid promptly decided to use his costume to bean little Kirk over the head for ruining the play.

The entire audience was roaring with laughter by this time, but all poor little Kirk could do was cry… sorry, that was a mistake. Little Kirk was too busy trying to avoid the blows to cry; it was big Kirk who was doing the crying.

"That was the most humiliating day of my life. Was this really necessary?" he said with a little sniffle. "Was it _absolutely mandatory_ to humiliate me like this?"

"Yes."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"I'm sorry, Jimmy. Really," Mrs. Kirk said sincerely. "But I had to do this. It helped you to understand why you didn't want to be in your crew's play—AND why were so nasty to poor Pasha earlier! All he wanted to do was get you into the spirit!"

"Poor who?"

"Chekov."

"Oh… he wouldn't have anything to do with sending you here to embarrass me, would he?"

"That, I cannot say," replied Kirk's mother. "That, you must learn from the next Ghost."

"NEXT Ghost? Who this time—Dad?"

"No. He was too busy dealing with somebody else."

"Too busy for _me?_ Impossible!"

Mrs. Kirk sighed.

"Hopefully, you'll learn more from the next Ghost than you seem to have learned from me. G'bye, Jimmy! And don't forget to eat ALL of your vegetables!"

"No! No, take me back to my ship!" Kirk exclaimed. "I don't want to see any more! Please! _Mommy!"_

But she had already vanished, and Kirk suddenly found himself all alone in his quarters onboard the _Enterprise._

Kirk blinked and glanced around a bit, making sure that it really was his room. Upon finding nothing out of the ordinary, he decided that he had just been having a bad dream. Then he tried to go back to sleep.

But the second his head hit the pillow, someone happened to tap him on the shoulder. Kirk groaned and pulled the covers over his head, muttering something like, "Oh, go away."

Unfortunately for him, the certain somebody took that opportunity to yank the blankets off the bed and dump them unceremoniously onto the floor. Kirk shivered and felt around for the blankets. When he couldn't find them he had no choice but to sit up and gaze into the eyes of his second visitor.

If he was shocked at seeing his mother, imagine his surprise when he saw…

* * *

**Me: Okay, so it's not my best work. Gimme a break, here! I only had three days!**

**Dick: Not if you had started EARLIER, you procrastinator!**

**Me: Hey, what are you doing here? There aren't any reviews to reply to...**

**Dick: I figured doing something nice for you would make you feel like doing something nice for me. Hint, hint.**

**Me: ANYWAY, just wait'll the next part comes up! LOL. XD If you thought Mrs. Kirk was bad, wait'll you see the next two... muahaha... stay tuned, Trekkies! Same Trek-time, same Trek-website!**

**Dick: (glower)**

**Me: Alright, I take it back. Now please be nice and review! Happy Holidays!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A Christmas Carol with a Trekkish Twist**_

**_Part Two_**

**DISCLAIMER: Hmm, let me think... if I owned them, I would probably wind up dumping Picard off that bridge instead of Kirk, who would now be alive and well aboard the _Enterprise._ And please note that there are no stupid A's, B's, C's, or D's after _Enterprise!_**

**But I don't own them. Lucky for Picard.**

**Incidentally, if anything from the Ghost of Christmas Present thing sounds familiar, it's because I was (very) heavily inspired by a movie I partially watched a couple of weeks ago. It's called _A Carol Christmas_. It's got Tori Spelling in it, but, more importantly, it's got Shatner as--you guessed it--the Ghost of Christmas Present. So, essentially, I don't own him either because I stole his character from someone else. So there.**

* * *

"ME!" Kirk gasped in wonder. "You—You're—You're ME!" 

"Well, I'm not the tooth fairy, that's for very sure!" the other Kirk smiled.

"But… but you look so… so much _older_ than I do… am I really going to look like that when I get older?"

"Hey, it happens. It's called life, junior."

Kirk (the real one) sighed inwardly and prayed that he wouldn't really look like that twenty years from now. Out loud, he asked uncertainly, "So you're, uh… you're the Ghost of Christmas Present?"

"Something like that," responded the Ghost.

"Are you going to transport me to another embarrassing part of my life now?"

"I don't know," the Ghost said with a shrug. "You might be embarrassed if you've got a heart, but judging by the way I'm here in the first place, I don't think you need to worry about that quite yet."

Kirk sighed again and hauled himself out of bed.

"Alright, well, let's get this over with," Kirk sighed.

"Good. Now grab hold of my suspender here…"

"Um… why?"

"Just do it."

"Er… are you sure you washed that thing?"

Thunder boomed ominously overhead. Kirk let out an almost-inaudible whimper, but did just as the Ghost had asked him to. In less than a second, the pair had been transported out of Kirk's quarters and into one of the ship's rec rooms. The place was buzzing with activity. Most of the bridge crew (excluding himself) was present, and Kirk instantly knew that they were working on their Christmas play.

"Now doesn't this look like fun?" the Ghost observed jovially.

"'Looks' and 'is' are two different things," Kirk replied sourly. Then his expression softened slightly and he said quietly, "But… it _does _look like fun…"

The instant that Kirk said this, there was a loud crash from behind. Kirk whirled around to see that some random ladder had accidentally tipped too far to one side. The man on top of the ladder (McCoy) had managed to leap onto the Christmas tree and hang onto it to keep himself from plummeting to the ground, so he now hung like an ornament from the higher branches. He could be heard cussing all the way down the hall.

Unfortunately, there had been someone else nearby when the ladder chose to fall. And that person couldn't quite get out of the way in time. As if you haven't figured it out yet, that unlucky officer happened to be Chekov, who instantly went down with a loud cry.

"Fun. Right. What was I thinking!" Kirk muttered to himself. But, even though he knew nobody was aware of his presence, he chose to rush forward to the scene of the accident and see if Chekov was alright. Force of habit, you know.

"Are you alright, Pavel?" Uhura was asking worriedly.

"No," was the blunt (and very pain-ridden) response. "I think… I think my leg is broken!"

"Och, well that's just fine!" Scotty ranted. "Our navigator has a busted leg, and meanwhile, _where _is the best doctor on the ship? He's busy working on his impersonation of a Christmas ornament!"

"I'm workin' on it, you -CENSORED- -CENSORED-!" Bones yelled back. Then he added to himself, "I'm a doctor, not a piece of tinsel!"

As the Ghost and Captain Kirk looked on, Scotty and Spock (yes, Spock was there, too) were busy lifting the ladder off Chekov's leg. Nurse Chapel had grabbed her ever-present hypo and was preparing to take a look at the injured limb.

"Chekov always did have a knack for getting into trouble," Kirk commented. "Guess this means he won't be able to do the play."

"'Course he will," answered the Ghost. "He's playing Tiny Tim, remember? The one with the crutch? I thought you read that book back in high school."

"Oh, please. Let's not go through that again."

Meanwhile, Chapel had finished her examination and had declared Chekov's left leg officially broken. There was a general chorus of 'Oh, no's and sympathetic noises. Even Kirk added his 'Poor kid' to the mix as McCoy finally got himself down to ground level. He instantly took charge of the situation by picking Chekov up off the floor and helping him to Sickbay.

The Ghost waved his hand, and Kirk soon found himself in Sickbay. As usual, Chekov was lying on one of the biobeds while McCoy and Chapel tended to his most recent injury.

"There! All set!" McCoy announced, seemingly pleased with his work. "How do you feel now, Chekov?"

"Painful."

"Yeah, well… I just don't understand," the doctor quickly changed the subject. "That ladder was perfectly stable. What caused it to fall?"

"Er… that vas my fault, sair," Chekov admitted sheepishly. "I vent to see the Keptin about being Scrooge in the play."

"You didn't!" Chapel gasped.

"I did," nodded the navigator. "He turned me down—vas wery mean about it, too… I-I mean…!"

"Don't worry. We won't tell Jim about what you just said," Bones assured the suddenly-pale young ensign.

"Traitor!" Kirk yelled at his CMO. "Dirty lousy traitor! I wasn't even that rude about it… was I?" he added uncertainly, turning to the Ghost. When he got a rapid nod as a response, Kirk really wished he hadn't asked.

"Anyvay," Chekov was saying, "he yelled at me, and I just vanted to get avay from there as fast as I could, so I didn't bother to look vhere I vas going and…"

"Never mind. I can guess the rest."

Then McCoy gave the younger man a pat on the shoulder and told him that he was ready to go.

"Just don't try to climb anything and you should be alright. You know how to use a crutch, don't you?"

"Sadly, yes."

"Good. Because you'll be needing it for at least three weeks."

"Merry Christmas," Chekov grumbled.

Chekov was just sitting up when he unexpectedly let out a sharp cry of pain. Next thing Kirk knew, his best navigator was lying back on the biobed, clutching his mid-section as McCoy hastily scanned the area.

"Internal injuries," McCoy muttered.

"Not bad, I hope?" Kirk asked, only to belatedly remember that his question would not be answered. Not directly, at least.

But, directly or indirectly, Kirk never got his answer in words. The Ghost waved his hand once again, but this time, they didn't even leave the room. However, time had obviously passed, since the only one in the room now were McCoy, Chekov, Kirk, and the Ghost. Even to someone who was completely unfamiliar with medicine (like Kirk), it was obvious that Chekov was not doing well at all.

"What's wrong with him?" Kirk asked.

"How do I know? I'm dead."

"Thank you," was the sarcastic reply.

"Well, he wouldn't be in this mess if you had been a little nicer to him," hinted the Ghost.

Kirk opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out, so he just shut it again. What was he supposed to say to that? The Ghost had a point. Everyone on board knew how shy and impressionable their newest ensign was. No matter how terrified Kirk was, he was supposed to show a good example to his officers, especially the younger ones.

"Beginning to feel embarrassed?" the Ghost queried. Kirk gave him a rotten look, but refused to admit that he _was_ feeling pretty awful right about then.

Ever so slowly, Kirk approached his sick navigator. His vital signs were beginning to slip lower and lower down the screen, in spite of all the doctor's efforts to get them up again.

The Captain was just about to reach out and touch Chekov's unmoving fingers when the doors whooshed open.

"Sulu," Kirk murmured. "Should have known he'd come."

"How's he doing?" were the first words out of Sulu's mouth.

Doctor McCoy just shook his head sadly and went back to trying to help his patient.

"Look," the helmsman started again, "I know we were all looking forward to putting on that play—_especially _Pavel—but I don't think… I mean…"

"I agree," McCoy said quietly. "We shouldn't do it now."

"No!"

Sulu and McCoy glanced down at the patient, who had just uttered the weak cry.

"No… go on… vith the play…" Chekov said haltingly. He took a moment to cough, then added, "I vant you to."

Kirk was surprised when he had to swallow the lump in his throat. Captains _never_ cry, after all. But, nonetheless, a tear came dangerously close to rolling down his cheek as Sulu nodded his consent, gave his friend's shoulder a little squeeze, and left the room just as fast as he could.

"Hey, Ghost," Kirk piped up, trying not to sound like he cared _too _much. "Chekov… IS going to be okay, isn't he?"

"I see a vacant seat to the right of your command chair, and a console without an operator, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, the boy will die," the Ghost told Kirk forlornly.

"_Die!_" Kirk yelled incredulously. "He can't _die!_ He's the best navigator in the fleet!"

"And besides that, you feel guilty, and if he dies, you won't be able to stand it. Right?"

Kirk looked over at the biobed, where Chekov had lapsed back into a state of semi-consciousness and was tossing restlessly.

With a little sigh, the Captain admitted in a nearly inaudible tone, "Right."

Kirk didn't notice when the Ghost smiled almost imperceptibly. And then, with a wave of the Ghost's hand, Kirk found himself back in his quarters once again. But this time, Kirk didn't even bother to try to go back to sleep. He may not have remembered much about A Christmas Carol, but he did know this: there were three ghosts. And so far, he had only been visited by two. That meant there was still one more left.

Sure enough, no more then twenty seconds later, Kirk heard loud, maniacal laughter coming from the foot of his bed. He jumped back into a fighting stance, ready to fight and protect himself (and his ship, of course), but all that was visible was a large cloud of black smoke. Kirk wasn't sure, but he was pretty sure that the black was not a good sign.

Eventually, the smoke cleared. All that stood there was a hooded figure in a long dirty white cloak. When Kirk asked his visitor to identify himself, the figure pulled back his hood. There stood…

"_KHAN!_" he shouted. "How did you get onto my ship? You'd better leave before I call security!"

"Or what? You'll kill me? There's a laugh—_ho, ho, ho!_" Khan replied with a sneer. "I'm dead, remember? Thanks a lot, _Captain!_"

"Dead?" Kirk repeated, confused. "I never killed you. I just left you on some completely lifeless Dust Bowl of a planet, remember?"

"Right. You haven't done that yet, have you?" Stalking to the other end of the room, Khan grumbled, "I cannot believe I'm even HAVING this conversation."

"You still haven't explained to me what you're doing here… oh don't tell me you're the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come!" Kirk exclaimed. "Just don't!"

"I am."

"I asked you not to tell me that!"

Khan sighed a little as his former (and possibly current) adversary continued to protest his presence:

"But WHY? You're evil! Why are YOU here, of all people?"

"What, and miss a chance to make you feel like the dirty rotten murderer you are? Never!" Khan countered.

Now it was Kirk's turn to sigh. But when Khan offered a bit of his robe to touch, Kirk did so. Very hesitantly, mind you, but touch it he did. And it took them no more than a second to arrive in the rec room.

The first thing Kirk noticed when they got there was that he himself was nowhere in sight. And judging by the way the rest of the bridge crew was there, Captain Kirk should be at one of the tables watching McCoy and Spock arguing about something completely unrelated to anything.

And that was the second thing Kirk noticed—McCoy and Spock were not arguing. About anything. At all. They just sat silently at their usual table, not saying a word. That fact in itself was enough to give Kirk the shivers.

He was just about to ask Khan why nobody seemed happy that day when something else came to his attention:

Chekov was not present.

Usually, the ship's navigator was sitting with Sulu and Uhura, who were the only real friends he'd been able to make during his stay. But this time, the pair sat by themselves, with the latter looking as if she had been crying very recently.

"Not Ensign Chekov!" Kirk exclaimed in despair.

"You think?"

"Oh, shut up."

Kirk slowly went forward, leaving a slightly-irritated Khan behind him. As he got closer to the crew's tables, he began to pick up what was being said by his crew:

"I just don't understand it," Uhura was saying tearfully. "Why him? Why now? Just before Christmas, too! He was so looking forward to it… so happy…"

Sulu reached over and placed a reassuring hand on Uhura's arm. Neither said anything, both thinking about the loss of their young friend.

Meanwhile, over at another table…

"I lost him," McCoy said dully, as if in a trance. "I can't believe I lost him."

"You did your best, Doctor. There was nothing more you could have done," Spock insisted (if you could call it that).

"Then why do I feel like it's my fault?"

"Ye did everythin' ye could, laddie," Scotty insisted.

"Yeah."

But McCoy didn't really sound as if he believed it. Kirk wasn't surprised: Bones always got so personal with his patients and always took it very hard when he lost one. Not that he lost patients very often, but I suppose that that fact just made it a bit harder to let go of the few he couldn't save.

"Well? Feeling like a rat yet?" Khan interrupted abruptly.

Ignoring the rather inelegant terminology, the Captain asked, "Must things turn out this way? Chekov never deserved to die like that—okay, well, he is a bit of a pest sometimes, but even so…!"

"Hey, I didn't kill him, you did. Darn it…"

Kirk glowered at him, but decided it was in his best interest not to say anything back. After all, Kirk was alive. Khan was dead. And what could you do to a dead guy, anyway?

"Isn't there any way…?" started Kirk, almost desperately. "I mean… with Chekov gone… I just wouldn't be able to live with myself!"

"You won't have to. Watch."

With a wave of his hand (which looked suspiciously like he was trying to punch Kirk in the stomach), Khan took them both to a little spot on some random planet Kirk had never seen before. And hoped to never see again. For some reason, it gave him the creeps.

"Um… may I ask what we're doing here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Khan countered. And a few moments later, he laughed a villainous laugh and added, "I have been waiting for this moment for years!"

"Now I _know_ I'm not going to like this," Kirk sighed.

As they kept walking, a feeling of dread settle itself in Kirk's stomach, and the farther they went, the worse the feeling got.

Until, finally…

"Well, there you have it," Khan announced, sounding a little too happy for Kirk's own good. "Take a look."

With much trepidation, the captain of the _Enterprise_ slowly inched his way forward to the place Khan had indicated.

It appeared to be a grave of some kind. A simple grave, not the kind of shrine Kirk had always dreamed of having when—I mean, _if_—he passed on. But as he got close enough to read what was on the tombstone, he realized with a jolt that his own name was engraved on it!

"You mean… you mean I'm going to die?" he cried in a panic.

"You don't usually bury people who are still alive, do you? Although, in your case, I would be more than happy to make an exception," was Khan's reply.

"Well… I died bravely in some sort of fight, I'm sure… what do you mean, _no_?"

And indeed, Khan was shaking his back and forth, indicating that Kirk's fate had not been quite that heroic.

"See down there?" Khan inquired, pointing downward. Kirk went to the edge of the cliff they were on and saw a bunch of rocky-looking… rocks… below.

"…Yes…" he answered hesitantly.

"Now see over there?"

Kirk shifted his gaze to a nearby bridge.

"So what, exactly, is all of this leading up to?"

"You mean you can't figure it out?" Khan yelled, sounding as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Hello? A bridge? Big pointy rocks below? Are you even paying attention here?"

Then, without even waiting for Kirk to hazard a guess, Khan plowed on eagerly, "You fell off the bridge to a very ungallant death on the base of this mountain!"

"WHAT! No!" Kirk cried. Khan just laughed as the starship Captain did something he never thought he'd do—he dropped to his knees and begged.

"No, I can't die like that! I just can't! Please no! I—I _will_ be in the play, and I _will_ stop thinking of only myself! Just don't let me die like that! No…!"

But Khan just laughed and laughed and…

"ARRGH!"

Kirk suddenly sat bolt-upright in his bed, sweating bullets.

Breathing hard, Kirk took a good look around his room. No-one was there. No cracks of thunder, no black smoke, no suspenders. Nothing. Had he dreamt the whole thing?

"I'm alive," he whispered to himself. Then, with more confidence:

"I'm ALIVE! YIPPEE!"

After dancing around on his bed for a minute, he suddenly remembered that he was not the only one who had 'died' the night before.

He leapt out of his bed and, without even bothering to get dressed, raced down the corridors as fast as he could. He had to see McCoy. He had to see Chekov.

Kirk received many strange looks as he rushed passed a seemingly-large percentage of his 430 crewmembers. I mean, it's not every day that you see your Captain dashing down the halls in nothing but his pajamas! And as to what his pajamas are, well… we'll leave that to reader imagination.

After what seemed like an eternity, Kirk found himself in Sickbay. And sure enough, just like in his dream, Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Sulu were tending to an unconscious Chekov. But to Kirk, Chekov looked quite dead. So when McCoy moved the blankets a little closer to the navigator's head…

"NO! DON'T!" shouted Kirk.

The two turned to give him rather strange looks, even more so when they saw what the Captain was—or rather, _wasn't_—wearing.

Apparently, Kirk's yell had awakened the patient, for Chekov was soon sitting up on the biobed, looking extremely drowsy (and like he hadn't combed his hair since last Christmas). But all that mattered to Kirk was that Chekov was also looking extremely alive. He wasn't dead! Joy to the world!

"Ensign Chekov!" the Captain exclaimed.

"Jim, _please!_" Bones hissed. "He doesn't need a lecture right now, whatever is you think he's done!"

"Me? Lecture Ensign Chekov? Never!"

By now, Sulu was quite tempted to turn to Chekov and start making circular motions around his ear, if only to make his friend laugh a little. What was the matter with Captain Kirk today, anyway? Maybe he was finally starting to get into the spirit of things.

_He should have done that yesterday, _Sulu thought, feeling more than a little miffed. _Then maybe Pavel would still be on his feet, ENJOYING the holidays instead of being stuck in Sickbay all day… no offense, Bones, but really… the least you could have done was decorated…_

Meanwhile, Kirk, who was blissfully unaware of Sulu's mutinous thoughts, had made his way over the biobed. McCoy moved aside so that Kirk could get closer. But he stayed within hypo-sticking range in case the Captain really did turn out to be insane. Not that he was ever completely there to begin with…

Chekov, too, had long since begun to suspect that his Captain had lost a few marbles. But when he rubbed his eyes free of sleepy-dust and saw Kirk's attire, he figured that it wasn't Kirk going crazy—it was Ensign Chekov!

"Sair?" he asked in a soft, questioning voice. Propping himself up on his elbows, the navigator added, "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? On Christmas? Of course not!" Kirk yelled jovially, startling Chekov a bit. "I just wanted to tell you… well, about what I said last night… I was just—tired. Or something. I didn't mean any of it. You know that, right?"

"Yes, sair," Chekov answered obediently.

"Good, good… and with that in mind, I would be… very honored to be Ebenezer Scrooge in your play."

That was when Sulu cleared his throat slightly and announced that, due to Chekov's inability to participate, the crew had all agreed to cancel the play.

"But just yesterday you agreed to go on without him!" Kirk protested.

"Well, yes, but—how do you know that?" McCoy asked suspiciously.

"Uh… well… I'm the Captain. I'm supposed to know these things."

"Yup. He's back to normal, alright," McCoy retorted with a smirk. Kirk shot him a nasty look, but then directed his gaze back to his sick ensign and asked if this was true or not.

"I tried to conwince them to do it, but they vould not," Chekov nodded.

"I don't think anyone's really in the mood for a play this year, Pav," Sulu put in. "Maybe next year."

"I am sorry for ruining the play, Keptin," Chekov said, turning apologetic eyes to his superior. "It vas my fault. I vas careless."

Kirk didn't whether to laugh or to cry at this statement. It was so like Chekov to take the blame for anything and everything that he was just a wee bit involved in.

But, in the end, he did neither—just placed a warm hand on Chekov's shoulder and told him to concentrate on getting better as soon as possible.

"And I'm holding you to being Scrooge in next year's play, too," Bones added, snickering evilly.

With an award-winning smile, Kirk replied, "I can't wait! Oh, and Ensign?"

"…Yes, sair?"

"Merry Christmas."

Chekov's smile was genuine as he replied happily, "Merry Christmas, sair!"

And they had a very merry Christmas on board the _Enterprise _that year. Okay, so Chekov would have preferred to NOT be stuck in bed with internal injuries and a busted leg, but that's life. And because Chekov couldn't attend the main holiday party in Rec Room 3, Kirk decided that it was only sporting to drag some of the decorations into Sickbay and hold a special bridge-crew-only party for the navigator later that day. Although McCoy cursed a lot when he heard of that plan, he really got to enjoying himself when Scotty produced a big bottle of Romulan Ale.

And so, as Chief Engineer Scott once observed, they had 'no tribble at all!'

(Oh, come on, you didn't think I'd include that?)

**_The End_**

* * *

**Me: Now here's an interesting question! What DO Kirk's pajamas look like? Any guesses? Dick?**

**Dick: Hmmm... I guess a white t-shirt and pink boxer shorts with little red hearts on them!**

**Me: Oh, that's good... I wish I'd thought of it... which I didn't, and I don't know what his PJs look like either, so don't ask... anybody else wanna guess?**

**Little Joe: I think they're silver and have got his initials engraved in gold all over it!**

**Me: And you, Chekov?**

**Chekov: I'd better not say or I might end up in Sickbay again. The Keptin has long since returned to his normal self.**

**Me: Ooooh, that's bad. Just wait'll next year--I'll fix him good.**

**Dick: And if anybody else wants to guess about Kirk's PJs, just put it in the review I'm sure you're about to send.**

**Me: My sentiments exactly! Well, that's it until next year, when I write the play itself. Merry Christmas, everybody!**

**Dick: And Happy Kwanzaa!**

**Little Joe: And Happy Hanukkah!**

**Chekov: And Happy Three Kings Day, vhatever THAT is.**

**Me (sigh): I'll explain it on the way out...**


End file.
